


A Fever You Can't Scratch Out

by Anonymous



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Frottage, M/M, Nipple Play, Slight feminization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 22:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Ray's got an itch under his skin he just needs a few minutes alone to work out.Frank wants to be his buddy.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Ray Toro
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Bandom Kink Meme





	A Fever You Can't Scratch Out

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [bandomkinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/bandomkinkmeme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> can we PLEASE get some love for ray toro's tits i mean breasts around here? pairing is up to you but bonus points if it's ray/gerard, ray/frank, or ray/gerard/frank

Ray’s sort of…itchy lately. That’s the polite way of putting it. The way his mom would have said it back before he started washing his own sheets, her eyebrows raised high and knowing on her face as his brothers snickered at him across the hallway.

Homesickness aches somewhere deep in Ray’s chest, but that’s almost always there this many months into a tour. He can call his mom later. The itchiness though. The uncomfortable tightness of his own skin. That’s new.

He’s tried to play the itch away, but the vibrations from his guitar just make things worse. He adjusts himself under the guise of fiddling with his guitar settings, trying to look interested as Gerard slashes a pinky-fingered hand out in the air in front of him. He’s not sure if they’re even talking about music anymore though. He’s pretty sure he’s heard the words _demon fruit_ thrown around at least twice now.

Something cold taps the back of his neck. Ray jerks, flinching just in time to catch Frank’s face as it breaks into a shit-eating grin.

“It’s just water, man. Chill out.” Frank gigles, tossing the cold bottle at Ray’s head. He catches it—because you don’t live on a bus with Frank and not learn how to catch things flying at your face—but scowls. Frank laughs at him like the little shit he is.

“You’re, like, melting over there, Toro. What the fuck?” Frank flops down onto the couch beside Ray, kicking his feet up on an amp. Ray hadn’t even noticed him leaving the room for a break even though the back lounge they’ve converted to practice space is practically a closet. Even sitting on opposite sides of the couch Frank’s elbow still nudges up against Ray’s side.

“It’s hot,” Ray says, and Frank nods. The back room is sweltering with all five of them in it and Ray always works up a sweat when he plays.

He wonders if they’re even going to play anymore today though. Bob is twirling a stick absently, squished up behind the little kit they’d managed to fit in only by tearing the other bench seat out. Meanwhile, Mikey and Gerard are arguing over something that is definitely not music, sounding a lot like the long-nailed Jersey ladies at the salon when one of their soap operas came up in discussion.

Frank is the only other person beside Ray still playing with his instrument, fingering a few power chords absently. After a few seconds he switches to plucking a line of ringing harmonics before seeming to realize he has eyes on him.

“Sup?” Frank says. He twists around, head rolling on the back of the couch as he meets Ray’s gaze. He looks bored and lazy and a little flushed, like maybe the heat is getting to him too. That might just be Ray’s itch talking though.

“Are we done?” Ray asks, aiming the question at the room at large.

Bob shrugs. Mikey glances back at him. Gerard doesn’t stop talking about _cinematic parallels_ long enough to hear him.

“Yeah, fuck it. We’re done,” Bob declares and gets up off his minuscule chair with both knees cracking. He flicks Gerard in the ear as he goes, earning a yelp and _finally_ a rest from whatever Gerard has been ranting about, before ambling out the door.

Gerard blinks around the room as he rubs at his ear. “Oh. It’s over?”

“You guys have been taking about what?—killer tomatoes?—for like fifteen minutes, Gee,” Frank snorts. He slings his guitar strap over his shoulder and drops his Les Paul it in its case, kicking it shut. He even manages to toe one of the latches closed with a socked foot. It’s as disgusting as it is impressive. “Couldn’t you could just watch the movie and figure it out?”

“I don’t have it,” Gerard mutters. He bites at a black nail for a moment, before turning a thoughtful look at his brother. “It’s pretty old. Think you could find it online?”

Mikey stretches out now too that practice is done, losing some of the rigid tension he still gets whenever they’re trying something new. “If the bus internet doesn’t suck today,” he says. Gerard nods, flicking away a chunk of his nail, looking determined enough to try.

The Way brothers get up and troop after the path of their drummer, sliding the door shut behind them and continuing their argument even as the bunks creak as they crawl in. Ray stares morosely down at his fretboard. That’s Bob in the front no doubt returning to his X-Files reruns and Mikey and Gerard in the bunks. Beside him, Frank burps and sinks lower into the couch, arms tucked behind his head like he’s going to nap.

Ray just wants five minutes alone with himself. Five minutes to scratch at the pressure that’s been bothering him for days. He’s desperate enough to even contemplate the tiny bathroom sink and its paper thin walls.

“That’s neat,” says Frank, cracking one eye open. Ray turns to him in confusion. “That little thing you were playing. What’s that?”

Ray hadn’t even been aware of his fingers moving. He lifts them from the strings and flexes them until they pop. Even the skin between his fingers is damp. “Um. I’m not really sure,” Ray says. “Sorry.”

“Man, you are _really_ out of it today.” Frank retrieves a hand from behind his head, waving a finger. “It was like—do doo doo do do. It sounded like opera and shit.”

Ray has no idea what frets his fingers were even near. Frank grins at the sight of his face. He sits up suddenly, curling his legs beneath him as he leans toward’s Ray’s guitar. “You were here,” he says, pointing at the fifth fret. “It was like A to G or something. But all, like, cooler than that.”

Ray helplessly plays an A chord. Then doodles something down towards the fifth fret. Frank’s smile widens even as he shakes his head.

“Nah. That’s not definitely it. Where are you, Toro? What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Ray blushes. He doesn’t mean to, but he does. He knows Frank notices too, because his grin turns filthy.

“Oh, man,” laughs Frank. “Is this about some girl?” Ray is too slow to deny it. Frank crows, perking up. “Who is it? Was she at the last show? Wait, is it that one roadie? The merch chick? Uhhh, Danielle right? No, Dani!” Frank snaps his fingers in victory. “What the hell? Are you finally getting some, Toro?”

Now Ray is definitely blushing. He glances back at the door to the bunks, but it’s mostly closed, just cracked an inch. The last thing he needs is the entire band trying to set him up with a random merch girl.

“I’m not sleeping with Dani,” Ray says firmly.

“But you’re totally sleeping with someone, right?” Frank says, sitting up straight and tall with a gleam in his eye. “Or, like, you’re thinking about sleeping with someone. You’ve totally got the look. Come on. Who is it?”

“It’s nobody,” Ray says. He wants to take off his guitar and leave, but his guitar is also one of the only things concealing the bulge in his jeans. It’s not like he’s even that hard, but it’s…noticeable, is the thing. They all wear such stupidly skinny jeans.

Frank obviously doesn’t buy it. He bounces up onto his knees, mohawk flopping down into his eyes. He’s still got red rimmed around them from the day’s show. They all desperately need showers.

Frank cackles at him. “Relax. You’re acting like someone just twisted your tits,” he says and Ray swallows as something sharp and electric crackles down his skin. The hair on his arms raise. His nipples tighten. He suddenly aware that every time he breathes his shirt pulls against his chest.

Sadly, Frank notices.

His eyes get wide, laughter trailing off as he takes in the tension in Ray’s posture. He blinks as he leans back on his heals. He says, almost incredulous, “Seriously? You’re _that_ horny?”

Ray hunches. He’s never been good at dealing with teasing like this, mostly because most people don’t talk to him like this. People tend to take him as seriously as he takes himself. But of course Frank Iero would be the one glaring exception.

“Shut up. It’s none of your business, Frank,” Ray says, aiming for stern and coming off defensive. “I’m just… worked up. We’ve been on the road for too long. It’s not good to go so long without a hotel break.”

“Sure, sure,” Frank allows easily, bobbing his head, “but you don’t see me and Gee popping boners during band practice.” He cocks his head. “You know there’s a fix for that?”

“I _know_.” Ray glares, lowering his voice. “If you would just—If everyone could just give me a minute of space—”

“Ohhh.” Frank drawls the sound out like it is the best thing he’s ever tasted. He looks around the back room like he’s never seen it before. “You were gonna jerk it back here? Seriously? What’s wrong with the bunks?”

“Gerard and Mikey are in the bunks,” Ray grits out, drowning in his embarrassment now. Only Frank would keep pushing at this. He never did know when to quit.

“So?” says Frank.

“So they’re awake,” Ray snaps, even though it should be obvious.

Frank just whistles, brows high on his forehead. “Wow. You really _are_ that worked up. You really can’t wait until tonight?”

Ray doesn’t know how to say that he has been waiting. He hates jerking off in the bunks even when everyone is asleep. He would rather just wait for a hotel night or, at worst, a minute or two alone in a single-stall bathroom. The last few gas stations they’d stopped at hadn’t had an ounce of privacy, however, and they’re _still_ not due for a hotel night for another week. Ray is going to vibrate out of his skin by then if he can’t get a hand on himself before then.

“Look. I know, Frank. I know, okay?” Ray says. “Could you just get out of here now? It’s funny. Ha ha. But I could seriously use a minute alone.”

“Looks like you need more than a minute,” says Frank, looking down on him from his perch on his knees. He glances back at the door, at the crack still there, before turning back to Ray. “You know… it’s been a minute for me too. If you wanted a hand. Or, like, a buddy.”

Ray’s thoughts go flat. “A buddy,” he repeats.

“Yeah, you know.” Frank jerks his hand up and down. The gesture is crude and obvious. “A road buddy. I do you, you do me. That sort of thing.”

Just the thought of having someone else’s hand on his dick makes Ray twitch. He curls around his guitar, but that just digs the plastic into his chest. He can’t help but notice when Frank’s eyes flicker down, before bouncing up to his face again. 

“That wouldn’t be…weird?” Ray asks. He supposes he has heard of guys jerking each other off before and it not meaning anything, but he’s never done it. Certainly, he wouldn’t know how to start that conversation with anyone he’d trust not to laugh him off.

Frank isn’t laughing though. He is smiling still, but it’d be weirder if he wasn’t. Frank practically lives to find the joke in something.

“It’s not weird. Me and Gee do it all the time. And Mikey and Pete, though they’re more like—anyway. Nah, Ray. It’s cool. It’s just friends helping friends.”

“Right,” says Ray. Frank is making this seem way too easy, but Ray is running out of clarity on why this is a bad idea. It’s not like he doesn’t know Gerard and Frank sometimes fool around. Or about Mikey’s budding summer fling. Neither of those two incidents seem to have broken the band yet.

Ray swallows. Frank is sitting back on his haunches looking at him like a dog about to get a treat. It’s a little dizzying, how much Ray suddenly wants to not do this alone. His eyes flicker past Frank, to the door.

“Lock the door,” he says and it’s a clear concession.

“Yes!” Frank hisses and bounces off the couch. He locks the door, but not before sticking his head out and shouting, “Special guitar dudes practice _only!_ Stay out fuckers!” and slamming it shut again. Frank claps his hands. “See? Fixed it. I just bought us a whole hour.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Ray says, but he can’t even fake annoyance. His entire body seems to tingle with nerves when Frank spins around and grins at him.

“Shut up. You love it,” Frank declares. “I can’t believe you’ve been flying solo this whole time. No wonder you’re practically begging for it by now.”

“I have sex,” Ray says, slightly wounded. It might have taken him a minute to lose his virginity but he had—long before the band even. So what if he wasn’t like Mikey, slipping off amongst the other bands and crew? Most people didn’t find it that easy. It wasn’t like everybody else in the band was swimming in groupies or whatever too.

“You’re so damn horny, Toro,” Frank teases. “I can see your tits.”

It’s the second time Frank’s said something like that. Ray doesn’t get why it gets to him, but it does. He knows Frank knows it does too, because the grin on his face stretches to obscene lengths.

“Do you like that?” Frank asks, edging closer. “You keep on blushing when I call them that. Do you like it when I say you’ve got pretty tits?”

Ray’s fingers spasm against the fret board. He pulls his guitar tight into his body, like a shield from what Frank is saying, but that just makes Frank’s gaze drop again.

Frank stalks forward. He’s short and skinny and there’s nothing that should be intimidating about him, but there is. Ray finds himself sinking back into the couch as Frank slides into his space. He climbs onto Ray’s lap before Ray knows what to do about it, perching himself with his knees on the cushions, Ray’s guitar trapped between them as he settles his weight on Ray’s thighs.

This is _definitely_ further than the eye-adverted jerk off Ray was anticipating. Frank’s weight roots him to his seat.

“It’s cool,” says Frank. His weirdly-forward tone breaks just long enough to sound reassuringly like Ray’s friend again. Frank shrugs. “We’ve all got our things. You should hear what I have to do to get Gee into the shower sometimes. It’s pretty nasty.” He giggles to himself, before growing into that strange sternness again. His voice drops like he’s telling a secret. “And it’s not like you don’t have something to be proud off. Your rack is fucking mouth-watering, Ray. You think this is the first time I’ve noticed?”

He reaches down and pinches the nipple hanging over Ray’s guitar. Ray jumps, but Frank doesn’t let go, twisting until lines of heat have zinged all the way down to curl in Ray’s toes. It’s only when Ray makes a noise that Frank lets go, soothing his palm over the abuse like it never happened.

“You like that?” Frank asks. It sounds like he already knows. He retrieves his hands, settling them down on his own thighs as he leans back. “You should move that guitar. Let me really play with them. They’ve been hard all day. Don’t think I didn’t notice. I bet they ache for it.”

“This feels weird,” Ray says.

“Weird like stop weird?” Frank asks, tilting his head.

“Weird like…” Ray trails off. He doesn’t want to stop. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Just weird.”

“I’m playing off a hunch,” Frank says sounding much more like himself than a second ago. His shoulders rise up to his ears. “You gotta let me know if I’m barking up the wrong tree here. I’m not trying to—fuck, I’m not trying to mess with you or, like, make you uncomfortable or whatever.”

Ray _does_ feel uncomfortable, he’s just not sure he doesn’t like that part too. “No. It’s… It’s fine. You just—don’t make fun of me, okay?”

Frank shakes his head. His mouth is finally serious. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m just having fun. You gotta tell me if you’re not having fun too, okay?”

“I am,” Ray says. At least, he doesn’t want to stop. “You can keep going. It’s… good. It’s good.”

Frank stares at him a beat longer, eyes narrowed, before the expression melts back into his usual smile. “Well okay then. We’re both having fun. Now that we know that, why don’t you move the fucking guitar, Toro, and let me see your pretty tits.”

It’s such a turn it throws Ray right back into being uncertain again. He doesn’t know Frank to be the dominate type, but something in the way he’s bossing Ray around so confidently makes sense. It’s like Frank’s taken all the qualities that usually make him an overly-energetic nuisance and funneled them down into getting exactly what he wants.

Ray pulls the strap over his head and slides his guitar to the side.

Frank grins at him, pulling on a curl of his hair before Ray can swat him. “There they are,” he says. His tone is appreciative. His gaze is hungry. Maybe that’s what stops Ray from regretting every decision that’s led to this point.

Frank’s hands don’t go immediately to his chest, landing down on his sides instead before running upward. It tickles and Ray almost laughs, before Frank finally reaches his destination. He gather’s Ray’s chest into two hands, tugging up until he’s got two distinctive handfuls he can push together.

“You really do have nice tits,” Frank says appreciatively. He cradles Ray’s chest, seeming to have fun pushing and pulling Ray’s tits apart, groping him with wandering hands. Ray blushes harder when he realizes he just thought of them as tits himself.

Frank teases Ray through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, running his thumbs softly over the tips of Ray’s nipples so gently they tingle and grow overly sensitive. Ray’s nipples are hard, obvious and eager. He swallows when he looks down at himself, the sight of Frank’s tattooed hands cupping his chest making him flush hot.

One of Frank’s hands dips lower, toying with the hem of Ray’s shirt. “Can I take this off?” he asks, leaning in close to whisper it in Ray’s ear.

It’s another step down the rabbit hole. Ray nods and Frank wastes no time in tugging his shirt up, impatiently pulling until Ray lifts his hands and helps him take it all the way off. It lands somewhere on top of Ray’s guitar, and he sends a silent promise to apologize to Brian May and all the other guitar gods when Frank flicks his nipples and all thoughts of guitars drain from his head.

“They’re pretty,” Frank says. He’s got both hands back on Ray’s chest, pushing his tits together until it looks like he has real cleavage. Ray’s a little dizzy, looking down and watching it happen. He almost wishes for a camera for a picture of himself.

“Frank,” he whines, when Frank does nothing more than hold him and run his thumbs—too soft again—over the peaks of Ray’s nipples. That barely-there sensation makes him squirm, somehow plugged in directly to his dick.

“Shhh,” says Frank. “Don’t bitch. I’m giving you what you want.”

Except that he really, really isn’t. Ray’s throat works, but nothing comes out except for a frustrated exhale that ends on a whine.

Frank grins at him and scoots up his lap a little, grinding their hips together. Ray bucks, but Frank flattens his hands on his chest, pushing him down.

“I’m going to suck on your tits now, Ray. You just sit back and get wet for me like a good girl.”

That doesn’t even make sense and Ray’s dick doesn’t seem to mind at all. He gasps when Frank leans down and kisses his mouth first—not expecting it. He’s seen Frank and Gerard kiss, hands yanking on each other in fists, but it’s nothing like that when Frank kisses Ray. He’s soft, licking into Ray’s mouth with a smile still curling around his lips.

After, he works his way down Ray’s neck with a gentleness Ray didn’t know Frank had, lingering on pulsepoints and collarbones until Ray’s skin is shiny with spit. When teeth sink down into Ray’s chest it’s unexpected, a betrayal. Ray yelps but Frank is already there, sliding one hand up from Ray’s chest and over his mouth.

Frank leers up at him with his mouth still latched on Ray’s skin and smirks. “Quiet down, Toro. You don’t want everyone to know how much you like this, do you?”

The thoughts in Ray’s head are confusing. He knows that he nods along and twitches when Frank sinks his teeth back in, biting into the edge of the muscle where Ray’s chest curves. He pants against Frank’s hand on his mouth and Frank must take it as some kind of invitation because his fingers are there next, two slipping in and pressing down on his tongue, almost petting him.

Saliva trickles out of his mouth unbidden. Ray grows hot, but Frank just laughs. His other hand smears the drool across Ray’s chest, hands sliding wet and slippery over his nipples. “That’s perfect, Ray,” praises Frank. “I knew you’d get wet for me.”

Ray moans and turns his face to the side, wishing there was something to cover him, but Frank doesn’t let him. His fingers hook into Ray’s jaw from inside his mouth, dragging his head down until more drool comes spilling over his fingers and over Ray’s chest. Frank leans forward, licking up a line of it on his own hand until he can shove his tongue in with his own fingers and lick into Ray’s mouth.

It’s filthy. It’s humiliating. It’s like nothing Ray’s ever done before. He doesn’t even realize his hips are moving in desperate little circles until Frank grinds down into him, sending him gasping loud and obvious.

Frank laughs and sets a slow, deliberate rhythm. “If you can hold off until I’m done with your tits I’ll totally suck you off,” he promises and that’s all the warning Ray gets until Frank’s leaving his mouth again, head ducking down and this time _finally_ going for Ray’s nipples directly.

The shock of the pain is terrible at first. Frank _bites_. Hard.

Ray swallows, but that just reminds him of the fingers still hooked into his mouth. Frank’s serious this time. He uses his free hand to cup Ray’s tit, biting on the bud and making really obvious eye contact with Ray as he tugs it as far as he can away from Ray’s body. Ray’s back arches, but the fingers in his mouth don’t let him go far.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” Frank says when he’s finally released him. He smooths a flat tongue over the nipple, before kissing his way to the other side. Ray tenses with anticipation, but Frank just plumps the bud with slick fingers for a moment before flicking his tongue against it. The quick pressure is instantly maddening.

It’s uneven, unbalanced, and Ray doesn’t know what to do with his hands, with his body, as the heat flares in unbearable streaks throughout his body.

This can’t be normal, Ray thinks, grunting in time with the heartbeat flooding in his ears. Surely someone would have told him if this was the way it was supposed to be.

Ray feels shaken loose from his body, floating an inch outside it. He closes his eyes and pictures the way he must look. He’s dazed. He doubts his face is showing anything but dumb surprise, eyes glazed and mouth slack. His chest is smeared with his and Frank’s spit, shiny and heaving with the way he’s breathing. Frank’s latched on now, sucking on Ray’s nipple like it’s the best place in the world. He’s not even biting really, just holding him between his teeth, keeping him warm and wet and—

Frank’s hips roll against his again, harder and faster than before. Ray comes crashing back into his body just as the first wave of his orgasm swallows him.

Frank fucks him through it. Ruts against him harder as Ray shudders and quakes and starts to wince against the over stimulation. His fingers slide out of Ray’s mouth, coming down to dig into Ray’s chest as he sucks on Ray’s sore nipple.

Frank’s face is sweat-shiny and red, his hair plastered to his face and his lips obscene. He’s not looking at Ray anymore. Eyes squeezed closed and hips jack-rabbiting as he seeks his own release. He comes right in his jeans with a grunt and Ray doesn’t see it so much as he feels it when Frank’s teeth sink into his nipple hard enough he vision blinks white again.

Frank collapses on his lap, a quivering mess that buries his face into the spit-smeared mess on Ray’s chest. His hands press flat against Ray’s nipples, almost in apology. There’s drool rubbed all into his t-shirt too.

Ray clears his throat. He feels bruised and sore and embarrassed now that the hormones are fading. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to look Frank in the face after this.

Frank beats him to speaking. “Fuck,” he says, giggling and burying his nose into the crook of Ray’s shoulder. “Fuck, Ray. That was really hot. Holy shit.”

Ray clears his throat again, but there’s something that keeps the words from coming out still. Frank must feel it, because the smile drops from his face as he pulls back so he can look Ray in the face.

“You okay, man?” Frank asks. “You’re being quiet.”

Ray shrugs, embarrassed, turning his gaze away. His mouth feels scratch and sore from where Frank had dragged his jaw down. He doesn’t miss it when Frank frowns at him.

“Yeah no. Sorry. I need more than that, dude,” Frank says, and the post-orgasmic contentment is wiped clear from his face now. He bites at his lip, worrying the piercing there. “Was it what I said? Did I go too far?”

Ray just shrugs again. He’s not sure why he’s feeling so fucking fragile, but he is. He doesn’t want Frank to feel bad, not when everything had felt so good in the moment, but he’s not sure how to admit that he liked it.

“Ray,” says Frank, leaning in close again until their faces are inches apart. His expression is open, worried.

“I’m good,” Ray manages. His voice comes out hoarse and high.

“Hey. You gotta talk to me, man,” says Frank. “When did it stop being fun?”

Ray shakes his head. He can feel the wetness in his jeans and blushes harder. “I liked it.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure. You’re kind of freaking me out here,” Frank says and laughs, but it’s shaky and awkward.

“I liked it,” Ray repeats, stronger this time. It’s like their usual dynamic is slipping back over them. Ray’s rational head is tapping at him, reminding him that it’s not his job to worry the band. “Sorry. I did. I did like it. Stop freaking out, Frankie.”

Frank narrows his eyes and glares up at him, but finally sighs. He leans over and picks up Ray’s guitar from the seat, leaning it up against the couch instead. Then he pushes at Ray’s shoulder until he gets the message and lays down against the cushions.

“You better be, asshole,” Frank mutters, settling down on top of him and nuzzling into Ray’s chest. “I don’t like making my friends feel like shit.”

Ray doesn’t like it either. He curls a hand around Frank’s shoulders, pulling him closer, feeling more settled in his skin by the second. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “My head was just all…”

“Yeah,” says Frank, like he gets it. He still peers up at Ray like he’s double-checking he means it though. “I liked it too, if it makes you feel any less weird,” he adds. “Not to be a creep, but you’ve got, like, amazing tits, Ray. Ten out of ten would suck again.”

It makes Ray laugh, which he knows was the point. “You’re such a little shit,” Ray says, digging his fingers into Frank’s sides until he squirms. The itch has settled down in Ray’s skin, but the feeling of Frank wiggling against him makes him think it’s not as buried as he would like.

As Frank settles back down on his chest, eyes closed and lips breathing puffs of warm air directly only a nipple, Ray can’t help but squirm himself.

Frank cracks open an eye and smiles, teeth white and wicked. If there was doubt there a second ago, it’s gone by the time he leverages a knee between Ray’s legs. He says, “You know, I did say I bought us a full hour. I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve got some pretty neat tits myself.”

Ray groans, even as he finds the edge of Frank’s shirt and starts tugging. He thinks he really wouldn’t mind scratching this itch a little deeper.


End file.
